


The Ironbelly

by rushie



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragons, Mentor/Protégé, No Romance, spoiler free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rushie/pseuds/rushie
Summary: "Magnificent creatures, dragons."





	

Dragons were everything Charlie had imagined they would be and then some. His first few weeks on the job had been a literal crash course in most of the species at the facility in Romania; he had been knocked around less in Quidditch, and that was saying something—the Slytherins were notorious for playing a rough game. Stubs, one of the dragon-wrangling team's younger members (whose unfortunate nickname came from the fact that he had had the tips of the fingers on his left hand burned off by a particularly nasty Chinese Fireball), had taken Charlie under his wing, showing him quickest way _not_ to get your fingers burned off so he wouldn't have to learn the hard way. It was Stubs who always told Charlie whenever they were getting a new arrival. 

That morning, he burst into Charlie's tent, where Charlie was sipping his morning pumpkin juice and reading that morning's _Prophet_ , and said, "Look alive, Weasley! We're getting a new one today!"

"Are we?" Charlie folded the _Prophet_  in half and looked up, surprised. "I thought it was just the Opaleye this month."

"Surprise!" Stubs made asymmetrical jazz hands and hopped from foot to foot like a child who had to use the bathroom. "This one's an Ironbelly. Come on, come on! It's just landed, they've even called in some kind of expert."

"An expert?" Now _that_  was interesting. 

Charlie pushed himself to his feet and made for the tent flap, rolling his sleeves to his elbows as he went. Stubs trotted on slightly ahead, his knee joints bending like a spider's on his long legs. Charlie puffed a little in an effort to keep up with his taller friend. Around the landing enclosure, half a dozen witches and wizards were already beginning the process of preparing the Ironbelly for removal to what would become its enclosure. Even from far away, Charlie could see that it was heavy; a crater had formed around it where it had landed, shallow but massive, the earth tightly packed. The morning sun glanced off its steel-colored scales. His step faltered as he sucked in an awed breath. He had never seen an Ironbelly outside of a textbook 

"Magnificent creatures, dragons."

The voice came from behind him, and Charlie turned, nearly losing his footing altogether. A safe distance from the enclosure stood an elderly man. He held a cane that sported a grip carved like a hippogriff head, but he didn't appear to actually need it. It seemed to be more for show. His hair was shockingly white, but there was a faded smattering of orange freckles around his nose. His eyes were a lively, bright blue, and around his neck, he'd looped a slightly faded Hufflepuff scarf. He smiled kindly at Charlie when it was evident he'd been spotted.

"Have you worked here long?"

"I only just graduated Hogwarts," Charlie replied. "So not very long."

"Ahh, Hogwarts," the man said, and his smile turned momentarily wistful. But then he snapped back to attention and pointed his cane in the direction of the landing enclosure. The Ironbelly was swaying as if drunk, an effect of the sedatives they used; it was easier to move the dragon if it was mobile rather than totally unconscious. "Have you ever seen this one in person before? An Ironbelly, I mean. I understand you don't have any here at the moment."

"No." Charlie shook his head, throwing another glance back at the enclosure before taking a step away from it, toward the elderly wizard. "You must be the wizard they brought in to help—the expert?"

The wizard laughed, his cheeks flushing pink in obvious embarrassment. "I wouldn't go so far as to call myself an _expert_." He had a shuffling, humble way of speaking; he couldn't seem to look right at Charlie but only glanced at him and then quickly away again, back to the Ironbelly behind him. "But I did spend some time with them, especially during the war. Around 1924 or so."

With a shock like being doused in cold water, Charlie realized with whom he was speaking. Hadn't he read _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_  countless times at school? His own copy had notes scribbled in the margins, annotations of his own and those he'd added after reading papers its author had published over the years, addendums and additions to his work.

"Mr. Scamander," he said, half-gasping, and lurched forward to shake the man's hand, clasping it in two of his own. The magizoologist seemed bewildered and amused by this reaction, but shook his hand just the same. "It's an honor to meet you, sir. Your book—I've followed your work very closely, sir. You're—well, you're something of a hero of mine." 

Embarrassed by this whole speech, he felt the back of his neck heating. Mr. Scamander seemed a bit embarrassed, too. He flushed again and looked away, humbled by the praise even as he continued to shake Charlie's hand. "Yes, well," he said, with obvious discomfort. "I've recently retired from fieldwork, but I couldn't quite resist coming to see this when they asked me. What's—that is, I'm so sorry, what is your name?" 

"Weasley, sir. Charlie Weasley."

"Weasley. Excellent! Well, Mr. Weasley, it is always a pleasure to meet a fellow dragon enthusiast—and a fellow ginger. Although I'm afraid my color is much faded." He smiled sheepishly and raised his eyes skyward to indicate his white hair, and Charlie laughed, wondering if this were a dream and he could pinch himself and wake up. Newt Scamander, here! "Shall we, then?" he continued, pointing his cane in the direction of the enclosure once more. "I should like a closer look, I think."

"Oh!" Charlie said, half leaping to the man's side. "Yes, absolutely."

"Excellent." Mr. Scamander tucked his cane under his arm and, moving with a slightly duck-footed but very steady walk, set off in the direction of the dragon. "And please," he added, as Charlie, struggling to keep his mouth from hanging open, fell into step beside him, "call me Newt."


End file.
